


Big Bill Gets Off A Good One

by Sovvie118



Series: Askpolylosersclub Oneshots [3]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, Frottage, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 08:43:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sovvie118/pseuds/Sovvie118
Summary: Bill is home alone and gets a phone call from Richie.Another oneshot paired with the askpolylosersclub blog on Tumblr





	Big Bill Gets Off A Good One

Bill Denbrough is home alone. It’s a Monday, the rest of The Losers have early classes on a Monday and Bill doesn’t have one until later that afternoon; a Fine Art class that’s held in one of the large studios on campus and that he’s only taking for extra credit. He loves those classes, loves sitting in the wide-open studio with the enormous windows, listening to the faint scratch of pencils and tap of paintbrushes against the sides of mugs. He’ll have to remember to wear the pair of jeans he owns that are already covered in paint smudges. It’s going to be a good day.

So far, it’s about eight thirty in the morning and he has yet to get out of bed. He lay awake, listening to Stan pacing around in his room next door as he did his morning routine, before his footsteps faded down the stairs. He could faintly hear Eddie shouting to Richie that they were going to be late and that if he didn’t come and get in the car he was going to leave him behind. There was the familiar sound of the front door being closed and locked, and then the purr of Eddie’s car engine alongside the rather clunky sounds of Mike’s truck.

It’s silent, now, and Bill rolls onto his stomach to bury his cheek into the soft pillow. He can hear birds chirping outside, probably the ones in the tree beside Stan’s bedroom window that Stan always watches and sometimes leaves seeds out for. It’s pleasantly warm and he’s still on the verge of sleep; wonders if he should just let himself drift off again for an hour or two. He’ll still have plenty of time to get ready for his class. Although he needs to remember to fill up his car with fuel on his way there because it’s running close to empty.

The next time he opens his eyes, the alarm clock on his nightstand reads 09:34 and he realises that he must have dozed off at some point. He takes a deep breath into the pillow, noting briefly that it smells faintly of Eddie’s shampoo and trying to remember the last time Eddie was in his bed. He thinks it was only a couple of nights ago. He lies still for a while; the birds are still tweeting softly outside and there are gentle rays of sunlight dropping through the gap in his drapes.

He knows he can’t really go back to sleep. If he did, he’d run the risk of waking up too late to prepare for his class. But he can relax for a little while and enjoy the morning, he thinks, as he buries himself further into the comforter and slides his arms underneath his pillow. The movement startles him to the realisation that he’s half-hard in his sleep shorts, although it doesn’t really shock him. He’s not a stranger to being in this sort of state upon waking. Whatever he was dreaming about has slipped his mind, now, but it must have been good. He decides that he’ll take care of it in a minute, nuzzling his face further into the softness of the pillow and listening to the faint passing of cars in the street.

Now he’s noticed his problem, though, his attention can’t really seem to move away from it. He doesn’t know how he can’t have felt it before, but he must have been half-asleep because now it seems rather obvious to him. He presses his hips into the mattress a little, as hard as he can with his body still being sort of sleep-weak, and the action sort of moves the fabric of his shorts between his body and the bed and creates a nice bit of friction. It feels good, but he’s still in that space just after waking where you could drop back to sleep at any second. He doesn’t move his hips again until he forces himself to do it, hoping maybe that a little alone session like this will wake him up properly.

He continues to grind his hips into the bed, lazily, until he can feel himself reaching the point where he’s fully hard. It’s the thought of what he’s doing that works him up the most; the brief thought of the fact that someone could come home early and walk in on him, in particular. He’s still not too into it, still dazed and sleepy, so he forces himself onto his elbows to wake himself up a bit and runs a hand through his pillow-mussed hair. He hasn’t opened his eyes since looking at the clock. Rocking his hips into the mattress again, now he’s in a different position that gives him more leverage, feels much better. He briefly wonders how long he could keep this up, teasing himself with only this. Could he actually make himself come? The thought excites him a little and he feels his mind perk up into a more alert state as he continues to roll his hips. The friction is sort of good but he needs something else…something to help things along.

His face is still quite close to the pillow and he can smell that hint of something fruity that he knows is Eddie’s shampoo, and he can’t help it. He thinks about Eddie being beneath him, about strong thighs pressing against his waist as he rocks him into the bed. Each time he moves his hips forward against the mattress, he imagines Eddie moaning and gasping out his name with hands clawing at his back.

He imagines Beverly, painted nails scratching lines up and down his shoulders and then arms lazily wrapping around his neck, imagines dainty fingers carding through his hair and gripping at him, imagines soft legs wrapping around his waist to hook against his back. Beverly’s voice would be sweet and she’d tell him how good it felt and place kisses against the side of his face and beg him, right in his ear, to go deeper.

Then he imagines Stan, hips moving back against his own to create a rougher pace, imagines teeth against his neck just where he likes it, imagines fingers digging into his waist and the bottom of his back to guide him. Stan would tell him exactly what he wanted, he’d ask for it harder with a strain in his voice and Bill would give it to him until that strain turned into moans that he couldn’t hold back anymore.

He tugs one of his hands out from beneath the pillow, sliding it between the bed and his own body to get it onto the front of his shorts where he really needs it. The first touch sends a shock of pleasure through his spine that draws a low moan out of him. He’s about to get his hand inside his clothes and work himself through the rest of it when a sound from beside him startles him to open his eyes.

It’s his phone, vibrating against the nightstand and moving closer and closer to the edge. If he doesn’t answer it soon, it’ll fall onto the floor. He whips his hand out from under the pillow to catch it before it does, examining the screen for a while. ‘Richie’, it says, above the digits of a phone number and the green and red buttons for ‘answer’ or ‘decline’. He breathes out a sigh as he thumbs at the green one and holds the phone to his ear.

“Hello, R-R-Richie.” His voice is grainy with sleep and his breath a little fast. He’s sure that Richie won’t notice anything out of the ordinary.

“Morning, Billy!” comes Richie’s obnoxiously loud voice from the other end, “Just woke up?”

“Y-yeah…”

He chances another press into the bed to relieve some of the tension and it draws a brief, quiet groan out of him but he’s sure he can pass it off as him being half-asleep, if Richie even heard it. He obviously doesn’t hear it, because he continues to talk.

“I was just on my way home. Only had one class today because they cancelled the other one. The professor is sick…mono or something…I wasn’t really listening. Anyways, I’m gonna stop and get something to eat. You want anything?”

Bill rests his cheek against the pillow while he’s listening to Richie talk and closes his eyes again. His other hand is still beneath the sheets, although he drew it up to his stomach when his phone started ringing.

“N-n-no thanks.” He clears his throat, once, before continuing to speak, “Rich, it’s like t-t-tuh-ten A.M. Didn’t you just eat breakfast?”

“Uh…yeah, like, over an hour ago. So?”

Bill chuckles softly into the phone. His hand has begun to wander back down to the front of his shorts, almost of its own accord, and he chances a press against his budding erection with the heel of his palm. It’s not enough to draw a reaction out of him so he gets over-zealous and starts to rub at the outline through the material, using the thin fabric to create more friction. He’s really hard, now; can’t wait for his friend to just hang up so he can get himself off. He doesn’t realise that he hasn’t spoken in a while until he hears Richie’s voice again, low and almost concerned.

“Bill?”

“Y-yeah?” He answers too quickly in his bid to cover up the strange silence, not giving himself enough time to recover his voice properly and it comes out sounding strained. He braces for Richie’s reaction to it.

“…Bill, are you okay? Are you sick? What’s-”

There’s a sudden, painful pause, then, and he knows that Richie is working something over in his mind.

“…Did I catch you at a bad time?” He can hear the amusement in Richie’s voice, now, and knows that he’s been caught out.

“…N-n-no.”

“Come on, Big Bill, you can tell me,” Richie’s voice has lowered as if he’s somewhere public and doesn’t want anyone to listen in on his conversation, “Are you giving yourself a low five?”

“F-fuck off, Richie.”

“Woah.” The unmistakeable sound of Richie’s dirty laughter comes through to Bill’s ear, “Not nice, Billy. C’mon, man, be honest with me. I’m not judging. I’m just curious. In fact…if that’s what you are doing…then that’s kinda hot.”

“Rich-”

“I’m serious,” Richie cuts him off. There’s a brief pause, then his voice goes even lower, “Tell me what you’re doing. I wanna picture it.”

A shudder runs through the length of Bill’s body involuntarily. There’s something so gritty and raw to Richie’s voice sometimes, probably due to his incessant smoking, but he seems to be able to intensify it at will so he can use it to his advantage –which he frequently does and not only with Bill-. He wants to resist, he really does, but he’s on his back, now, and his hand has wandered again of its own volition right onto the hard bulge between his thighs. He can’t help how his hips lift away from the bed just slightly to press closer to his palm when Richie’s voice comes through again, quiet, but deep and slow.

“Bill?”

“I’m t-touching myself,” he blurts out softly, feeling briefly light-headed at the thought of what he just said, but it sends a shock of pleasure through his spine, especially when he hears Richie take a breath through the receiver; he must be holding the phone close for Bill to hear it that clearly, almost as if Richie’s lips were right on his ear.

“How?”

“J-just…over my boxers,” he replies, much too fast for how embarrassed he feels.

“Are you hard?”

He rubs down harder on himself, spreading his thighs a little and watching the shape of his knees beneath the blankets. He gets lost in it again, as he tugs at the obvious shape of his shaft through the fabric and rubs the material against the tip with his thumb. His breath is shaking into the phone, and he knows it is.

“Bill…are you hard?” Richie repeats when he doesn’t answer the first time, and Bill presses the phone closer to his ear, nodding briefly before he realises that Richie can’t see him.

“ _Y…yeah, I’m s-s-so fucking hard_ …”

“Okay…okay…” There’s the sound of cars passing, now, in the background. He knows that Richie must be outside somewhere, “Get your hand in.” His voice goes to a whisper, briefly, as if someone might have passed by, “ _I wanna hear you come_.”

Bill almost moans out loud just at the words, and he’s had enough. He kicks at the sheets until they’re around his thighs, sitting briefly to reach into the nightstand for the container of lube he keeps there. He’s torn off the label so it just looks like a tube of some sort of hair gel or lotion. He’d be embarrassed if anyone knew what it was and saw how fast it usually emptied. He squeezes a fair amount into his hand, and it’s cold; normally he’d warm it up first, but he’s past the point of caring about that right now, and as he positions himself back in the bed and gets comfortable he slips his hand down inside his boxer shorts to wrap his fingers around his shaft, holding the phone between his ear and shoulder to free his other hand.

His head goes back against the pillow as he starts to jerk himself off with the lube, and the phone almost slips out of place before he catches it, holding it tight to his ear as he hears Richie’s voice again.

“You using lotion?”

“M-hmm.” It’s all Bill can manage without letting a moan escape.

“Fuck,” Richie’s voice is extra gravelly, now, and it sends a shiver through Bill’s shoulders and spine that makes him arch his back off the bed. He ruts into his closed fist, cradling the phone between his shoulder and the side of his face again so he can reach to get his boxers down and take in the sight of it. It draws a moan out of him. With a visual aid he rubs his thumb over the slit where it’s sensitive, brows drawn together in both pleasure and concentration. He sucks in a breath the next time Richie speaks into his ear, “Talk to me, Bill. Tell me exactly what you’re doing.”

“I’m…” he swallows another moan as he starts to move his encircled fingers quickly at the tip. He can feel heat building in his abdomen, “Richie…I…I’m c-close…”

“ _Yeah?_ ” Richie’s voice is so low that it’s almost like a vibration in his ear and he presses the phone against his cheek almost desperately with his shoulder, turning his head to that side to get closer to the sound of it, “ _You gonna come for me_?” It sends more heat straight to where Bill’s hand is and he gasps out a moan. His head goes back again, but thankfully the phone is trapped between the various points of his body and the pillow and it stays against his ear where it’s meant to be.

“ _Y-yeah_ …” It comes out so quiet and shaky that he isn’t sure that Richie could have heard it. There’s nothing but silence from the other end of the phone, but he continues to stroke himself harder and faster, working himself closer to the edge. If Richie said anything else now he’d probably come right into his hand just at the sound of his voice. There’s that familiar, wet, skin on skin sound that he sort of loves to listen to. For some reason it turns him on all the more.

A noise from the ground floor of the house, the sound of the front door being unlocked and opened as someone comes inside, startles him out of his moment of bliss and tugs his shorts back up and tears his hand away, pulling the sheets back over himself so fast, as he hears someone coming upstairs, that his feet end up uncovered. He hears them starting up the second flight of stairs just as he throws the bottle of lube back into his drawer to hide the evidence of his activities.

The door opens, then, and he considers pretending to be asleep but it’s too late. It’s Richie, holding his own battered mobile phone in his hand, cracked screen against his ear as he watches Bill and examines the scene. He looks a little bit confused at first, but he quickly puts his phone away in his jacket pocket, discarding that and his clunky boots by the door, which he throws shut as he approaches Bill’s bed.

“R-Richie…I d-d-didn’t think you’d be home so soon, I…”

He doesn’t really know where he was going with his sentence, to be honest, or why he was trying to fake an explanation when Richie knew what he was doing anyway, but he doesn’t need to continue as Richie gets close enough to reach down and pull the sheets back. Bill doesn’t even stop him. It’s quite a sight, Bill’s shirt ridden up off his sweat-shiny stomach, the noticeable tent in his shorts, where there’s a damp patch from the lube.

Richie takes one look at him, a slow up and down, before his hands move to unfasten the belt on his own jeans. Bill is quick to reach up and help him, ridding him of his belt and jeans much faster than he could have done on his own. Richie is hard, too, or at least getting there, and Bill feels his mouth fill with saliva briefly before he swallows it away.

A hand comes down past him to the pillow, and Bill sees his own phone in its grasp when it pulls away as Richie places it onto the nightstand, before he gets into the bed with Bill, crawling straight on top of him. They meet in a frenzied kiss, tongues battling and hands grabbing until shirts are discarded on the bedroom floor. Bill tugs Richie into place until he’s right between his thighs, and he groans out a ‘yes’ when their hips touch, head snapping back against the pillow when Richie instantly starts to grind against him, clothed erections rubbing together and Richie’s considerable weight holding him down on the bed.

Bill’s thighs go straight around Richie’s waist, tight and desperate as he rocks back against him. He’s still right on the edge of an orgasm; Richie has brought it back full-force, only with those eager hips pressing him into the mattress it’s even better than before. He thinks that he’d really love to be getting fucked right now, like this, by Richie. They could make as much noise as they wanted in the empty house, do it more than once, maybe. Suppose in the next round, he could fuck Richie instead, from behind, grip hold of his hair and really pound him hard. Richie only ever really responds to that. The thoughts send him closer and closer to his climax, and he curls his toes as Richie continues to rut against him. He feels Richie’s teeth against his ear and his neck, breath hot and wet on his skin and dark, soft curls brushing his jaw.

“You wanna come, Bill?” He presses his own body harder into Bill’s when he nods in response, crushing him into the bed. It’s so hot that Bill almost feels claustrophobic, but all of his other senses are outweighing that by far, “Wanna see if we can come together?”

“F-f-fuck, yes,” Bill stammers out almost desperately quickly, watching as Richie tugs both of their erections free of their underwear and presses them together to get them both in his grip at the same time. Thankfully, he has large hands, and they’ve done this before, so Bill knows that it will work. They get off together like this quite often, actually, since first trying it. There’s something about having both Richie’s hand around him and his dick pressed right against his own that really drives him crazy.

Richie’s hand is working on them both, now. He’s chewing at his own lip, and Bill leans in to close the small gap between them so he can bite at it instead, drawing him into another heated kiss as he rocks his hips into Richie’s fingers. It feels so good that he doesn’t know how he can stand to focus on anything else at all, and after a while he can’t and he has to break away from Richie’s mouth to simply lie back against the bed and let him do all the work.

 _“Ah, fuck- Bill…”_ Richie groans in a quiet voice. His hand slows briefly, and Bill wonders if Richie is actually going to come first for once. It would be fucking hot if he did, he thinks as he watches his face intently, taking in the crease of his brow and the intense, lidded eyes. He doesn’t, though, and after a short while he picks up speed again. Bill can feel that his grip is tighter this time. He’s so close, himself. If Richie would just go a little bit faster…

He gets his wish when Richie moves one of Bill’s own hands towards himself to let him jerk himself off again. Richie continues with just his own dick, and Bill watches his hand slow and squeeze harder, observes his eyes flicking shut as he does it. He starts up his favourite pace on his own leaking erection, fast with short strokes and a loose grip that lets his fingers just lightly graze over the slick flesh. He’s going to come any second; he can feel it in the tension in his abdomen, that building pleasure deep in his core. He’s going to come _hard_.

“ _R-Richie_ …” he gasps out, unable to stop himself, and Richie groans in response. One of Richie’s arms is beside Bill’s cheek; he’s using it to hold his body above Bill’s without putting too much weight onto him. It’s the only part of him that Bill can reach properly right now, so he turns his face towards it to bite at his skin, getting a bracelet between his teeth instead. Richie always wears far too many, Bill thinks, and he pulls at it a little, considering snapping the black, plastic band off his wrist altogether. Richie probably wouldn’t care; he’s got hundreds of the things. His teeth come detached and he feels Richie’s hand move and long fingers raking through his hair in an absent-minded movement. Richie’s breath is steadily gaining speed. His hand is moving on himself as quickly as Bill’s, now, but he frequently slows it to an almost stop, as if he’s edging himself.

When Bill looks down, a drop of pre-come leaks out of the head of Richie’s cock and drips, tantalizingly slowly, onto his own. He uses his index finger to scoop it up, and under Richie’s lustful gaze he rubs it into his tip, using light pressure and small movements, just enough to feel it. If Richie wants to play this game of chicken then he can, too.

He has to drop his hand to the base of his shaft and grip quite hard to stop himself from coming when Richie decides to guide them to rub together again. His mind feels hazy as he watches Richie’s dick sliding against his own, ringed fingers with chipped, black nail polish brushing against his own on every stroke.

“I kinda wanna come all over you, Bill,” Richie grinds out. When Bill looks up, Richie’s eyes lock with his own, intense and dark and he feels his whole body get hotter.

“ _Do it_ ,” he breathes, hoping that his eyes convey the ‘please’ that he didn’t say.

“I will,” Richie chuckles breathily, “But you’re gonna come all over yourself, first.”

Bill doesn’t know whether or not to protest, since it’s actually true. He’s so close now that he can taste it. He’s squeezing as hard as he can at the base to stop it on each stroke, but it’s right there; it’s starting to burn and tingle in the best way, now. He recognises the feeling well, of a climax being delayed until he can’t physically stand it anymore. He wants to jack himself off, nice and fast, but he doesn’t want to give Richie the satisfaction.

“N-no.” Bill shakes his head a little, slowing his hand to an almost stop to try and stave off his orgasm.

“Don’t you wanna come, Bill?” Richie breathes, leaning down into his space, and Bill knows exactly what he’s trying to do. Dirty talk is one of Richie’s many skills, and he fucking knows it. “Would you come for me if I was Stan?” It hits a nerve and Bill bites back a sound that might have actually been a whimper. Richie sees it, a soft smirk growing on his lips as he moves ever closer, getting his lips right against Bill’s ear so he can’t get away. He can still feel Richie’s fingers brushing against him in a slow rhythm. “What if Stan was here…right now…watching you jerk yourself off? Would you come for him if he told you to?”

Bill shakes his head. It’s an obvious lie. His legs are shaking against Richie’s waist.

“What about Eddie?”

Bill’s eyes squeeze shut as if he’s attempting to block out Richie’s voice that way somehow. His hand has stopped moving altogether, now, as if he can’t take it anymore.

“Eddie wouldn’t do this to you. He’d want you to feel good, right?” Richie continues lowly, feeling the slight press of Bill’s thighs into his sides, “He probably wouldn’t even make you do it yourself.” Bill’s breath hitches. “Do you know what Eddie’s hands feel like, Bill?”

“No…”

“I bet you wanna know, don’t you? He’s got good hands, Bill. He’s strong. He could get you off just right. Just the way you like it. Nice and fast and tight.”

Bill feels lightheaded, now, as if he’s going to pass out from the sheer effort of not coming right this second. His fingers are wrapped tightly around his shaft, unmoving, but it’s so sensitive and swollen and currently being pressed between their bodies. If Richie chose to rub against him right now, he thinks he’d come, hard.

“Do you want that?” Richie whispers against the shell of his ear, and Bill can’t help his hips from bucking up against Richie for some friction. He doesn’t come, but the movement rubs the head of his cock against Richie’s smooth stomach and it draws a long groan out of him as his head snaps back against the pillow.

“ _I…I want that_ …” he breathes, unable to help himself from playing along, “ _R-Richie I’m so…so fucking close…_ ”

He feels Richie’s lips move from his ear and onto his cheek. A hand slides onto his painfully hard, leaking cock, calloused fingers wrapping around above his own to rub him off. He gets lost in it, this time, unable to stop him if he wanted to. He keeps his own hand where it is, although as his chants of ‘ _yes_ ’ get more and more frequent and louder, his grip loosens until he can’t do it anymore. He reaches up to fist at Richie’s hair, instead, allowing himself to be handled until he finally comes, with a whimper, right across his stomach and chest. He fucks Richie’s hand for a while, hips rocking up hard as Richie sits back to watch him, encouraging him with a lusty ‘come on’ and a ‘that’s it’. There’s a lot, and it’s a considerable mess, but Richie works him through every last drop of it, catching the last bit with his own fingers so he can use it on himself.

Bill’s thighs are still hooked over Richie’s. He feels weak and dazed, now, but he pulls his mind out of his post-orgasm haze to watch Richie chewing at his lips again as he works himself over. He looks even sexier, like this, with his hair falling into his eyes and his lips reddened from worrying them with his teeth. He watches one of Richie’s fingers rubbing at the head on the underside and knows that he’s getting right on his sensitive spot. He doesn’t make any noise, but his eyes close and his lips part; Bill wants to lean up to kiss them, but he’s too tired. He reaches out instead, getting a hand onto Richie’s stomach and stroking up and down his waist, where he can feel some of his ribs.

“Come on me,” Bill says, almost sleepily, and Richie’s eyes open and meet his own. Bill shuffles closer against the bed, parting his thighs as Richie leans down over him to hold himself up on one hand. He’s going to come soon; his hand is getting faster and tighter and Bill can see his hips moving, too, searching for more pleasure. Richie’s cock is hovering right above Bill’s navel, still leaking pre-come.

“ _Fuck_ -” Richie moans out, moving his hand so quickly that Bill’s stomach goes tense in anticipation. It doesn’t take much longer; Richie stops suddenly, gripping at the base and rutting his hips hard, and then he’s coming, but it’s like he’s trying to stem the flow of it, and after the initial load of it hits Bill’s chest, the rest drips out slowly to pool on his stomach. Richie lets out a deep, lusty groan, and Bill almost moans with him at the sight of it and the sensation of the warm liquid on his skin. Richie strokes himself through the rest of it after a while, slowly, and Bill rubs at the bottom of his back firmly, feeling a little bit smug when it causes him to grind his hips forward into his own fist with a hiss.

It takes them a while to clean up after, considering the state of Bill’s bare torso, but Richie does most of it so Bill doesn’t have to move and run the risk of getting it onto his bed. They lie together, then, in bed, until Bill’s alarm rings and he has to get ready for his class.

Richie is asleep when he leaves.

 

Bill secretly kind of hopes that he’s still there when he comes back.


End file.
